


Peripheral Vision

by hannasus



Series: Something Like Fate [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Island, Canon Bisexual Character, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasus/pseuds/hannasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets, outtakes, alternate POVs, and missing scenes from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4166268">Find My Way Back To You</a> and the rest of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/274866">Something Like Fate</a> verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missed Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MachaSWicket requested: "Oliver's POV, either some moment that reminds him of Felicity in the intervening years, or his reaction to seeing her name/face on his phone when she calls him?"

Oliver’s running late, of course.

He’s already checked in for his first-class seat, so it’s not like he’s especially worried about missing his flight out of O’Hare, but he’s late enough that his steps are hurried as he makes his way to his gate, towing his carry-on behind him. Until a passing glimpse in his peripheral vision of long black hair shot through with streaks of purple arrests his attention.

He stops in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat, and abruptly spins around for a better look at the woman who just walked past him—and very nearly trips the man who was walking behind him.

“Sorry,” Oliver mutters, yanking his luggage out of the way as he cranes his neck at the sea of travelers flowing through the terminal.

There. She’s heading back toward security. In the exact opposite direction he should be going.

It takes some maneuvering to cut against the grain of traffic, but he manages to insert himself into the stream of people moving in the woman’s wake. He weaves through the crowd, dodging around clumps of slow-walkers as he races to catch up to her. If she exits through security she’ll be lost, and he can’t let that happen.

He still hasn’t gotten a look at her face, but the height is about right, and somehow he just _knows_ it’s her. He’s certain of it.

His chest feels tight as he closes the distance between them. He’s just a few steps behind now. She’s wearing Doc Martens and a green military-style jacket, and it’s just so _her_ that he feels himself smile in anticipation.

And then he’s touching her lightly on the arm and saying her name and she looks up at him and—

It’s not her at all. Up close he can see that they don’t look anything alike, beyond the superficial similarity of their hair color.

“Sorry,” Oliver says, backing away. “I thought you were someone else.”

The woman shrugs and walks on, disappearing into the flow of traffic streaming out of the terminal.

Deflated, he turns and trudges back to his gate. He should _really_ be hurrying now, the doors are supposed to be closing any minute, but somehow he just can’t bring himself to care.

When he finally makes it to his flight it turns out they’ve only just started boarding first class, so he’s able to walk right onto the plane. He orders a scotch from the flight attendant and sinks into his window seat, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

He has every intention of checking his email before takeoff, but instead he ends up thumbing through his contacts until he finds her name.

_Felicity._

The girl with the purple streaks in her hair who talked a mile a minute, and whose smile was like a ray of unfiltered sunshine.

He’s never deleted her from his phone, even though it’s been almost three years. Even though they only spent one night together, and will probably never see each other again. Even so. He’s been dutifully carrying her number around with him ever since.

Not that he’s ever worked up the nerve to call her. What would be the point? They live on opposite sides of the country. And it’s not like they have any kind of actual relationship. It was just a one-night stand.

And yet. He can’t bring himself to delete her from his phone.

Oliver’s had a lot of one-night stands—more than he cares to remember—and there’s absolutely no reason this one should stand out to him. But somehow she does. Hell, she wasn’t even his type. He was never into the goth look, he always preferred cheerleaders and sorority girls. And yet here he is, three years later, still doing a double-take at the sight of dyed black and purple hair.

Which, in retrospect, is absurd. For all he knows, she’s changed her hair color a dozen times in the intervening years.

His thumb hovers over her telephone number. He could do it, he could call her right now. Maybe her number’s still the same. Maybe she even kept his info in her phone, so it’ll display his name on the screen. She might not even live in Boston anymore. She must have graduated by now, she could be living anywhere. Maybe even somewhere closer to Starling City.

He doesn’t call her, though.

Of course he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t have anything to offer her. He’s not even sure why he bothered to chase her through the airport. What would he have done if it had been her? Absolutely nothing, because he had a plane to catch and girlfriend waiting for him at home. At most they might have shared a couple minutes of awkward catching up before he was forced to say goodbye and run for his flight.

What was he even thinking?

The flight attendant drops off Oliver’s scotch and he takes a swallow before switching to his messaging app and typing out a text to Sara:

_About to take off. See you in a few hours._

And then, as an afterthought:

_I’ve missed you._

He sips his scotch, waiting for a reply from Sara that never comes. When the flight attendants give the order to power off electronic devices for takeoff, he leans back in his seat, closes his eyes, and tries not to think about the girl who got away.

A week later, when Felicity’s name lights up the screen of Oliver’s phone, it feels like the universe is playing some kind of trick on him.


	2. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara's POV on the Dinner From Hell scene in chapter two of Find My Way Back To You. (Requested by onlyhere4olicity.)

Sara’s phone chirps and she reaches over to snag it off the nightstand. It’s a text from Ollie:

_Be there in 20 min._

“Fuuuuck,” Sara groans, falling back into the bed.

Tessa rolls over and nuzzles against her. “What is it?”

Sara wraps her arms around Tessa and closes her eyes, breathing in the sandalwood scent of her hair. She wishes they could stay here like this forever. Just the two of them. Without the rest of the world getting in the way.

“Oliver’s on his way over,” Sara says with a sigh.

Tessa throws back the covers and sits up. “That’s my cue, then.”

Sara reaches out for her, wrapping her fingers around Tessa’s wrist. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tessa leans over and gives her quick kiss before stooping to retrieve her jeans from the floor.

“I’m gonna tell him soon,” Sara promises, not for the first time.

God, she’s such a fucking coward. She just keeps waiting around, hoping Ollie will break up with her so she doesn’t have to be the one to do it. So she doesn’t have to tell him that she’s leaving him for a woman.

The thing is, telling Ollie isn’t even the part that’s she afraid of. Not really. It’s everything that happens after that. Because telling Ollie means telling all of their friends. And Laurel. And her parents.

It’s just … it’s a lot. She hasn’t been able to work up the courage to come out to the whole world yet. It’s so much easier to just maintain the status quo, even though she knows they can’t go on like this forever.

Tessa shrugs. “It’s your life, Sara.”

“It’s just complicated.”

“I know,” Tessa says, tugging her shirt over her head. “I’m not pressuring you to do anything.”

She actually means it, too. Tessa’s been amazingly patient with her. Far more patient than Sara deserves.

She lunges across the bed and hooks her fingers through Tessa’s belt loops, pulling her in for a kiss. “How did you get to be so awesome?”

“Years of practice,” Tessa says, flashing that warm, twinkly-eyed smile that makes Sara’s stomach do summersaults.

By the time Tessa leaves, Sara’s only got ten minutes until Oliver’s due to arrive, which is just barely enough time to make up the bed and jump in the shower.

“You’re not ready!” Oliver says when she opens the door dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. He’s all dressed up in a suit and a dress shirt without a tie, and he looks pissed. Which means they must have had plans tonight.

Oops.

Sara steps back to let him into the apartment. “Ready for what?”

“We’re supposed to be meeting Tommy and Felicity at Haven in fifteen minutes!”

“Oh, shit.” She turns and runs into her bedroom.

Oliver follows, right on her heels. “You forgot.”

Sara lets the towel drop to the floor and starts digging through her closet for a dress to wear. “Just gimme ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Fuck, Sara, we talked about this on Tuesday!”

She yanks a dress off its hanger and rounds on him. “I know, okay! _Jesus._ ”

“You _said_ you were fine with it!”

It says so much about their relationship right now that she’s standing in front of him completely naked and he’s so busy yelling at her that he doesn’t even care. They haven’t had sex in weeks and for all she knows he’s fucking someone on the side, too.

Frankly, she kind of hopes he is, because it would let her of the hook. She wouldn’t have to feel like such a shit, because then at least they’d both be shits.

“Yeah, and then I forgot,” Sara says, jerking open a drawer and grabbing a pair of underwear. “Do you wanna stand here and fight about it, or do you want me to get dressed so we can go?”

Oliver clenches his jaw and glares at her. “Get dressed,” he grits out.

She can tell he’s just _dying_ to yell at her some more, and the only thing that’s holding him back is the fact that they’ll never make it to dinner if he starts a full-blown fight right now. Sara goes into the bathroom and slams the door, because _fuck him._ She’s not going to listen to him bitch at her the whole time she’s putting on her makeup.

She can’t believe she ever agreed to this stupid dinner in the first place. It’s her first Saturday night off in three weeks, the last thing she wants to do is spend it on a double-date with Tommy and some random chick Ollie works with. The worst part is that she’s going to have to sit there all night with this poor dumb girl and pretend that Tommy’s not totally in a relationship with Laurel. Because of course Tommy and Laurel couldn’t just be straight with Ollie about the fact that their friends-with-benefits hookup has turned into something serious.

Goddamn Laurel.

Sara knows Laurel only starting sleeping with Tommy to get back at Ollie. She _knows_ it. Which is fine. Whatever. Ollie kind of deserved that. But then Laurel had to go and actually fall for Tommy. Which Sara does not get. _At all._ But again, whatever. It’s Laurel’s life, she can fall for whoever she wants.

But now she and Tommy are lying to everyone about it because Tommy’s too chicken to tell Ollie the truth, and Sara’s expected to keep their secret for them. And she doesn’t have any choice about it, because that would make her a shitty sister, and she’s already got enough points in the shitty sister column to last the rest of her life.

Seriously, goddamn Laurel. And goddamn Tommy. And Ollie too, for that matter. Goddamn all of them.

When she finally comes out of the bathroom, Oliver’s practically worn a path into her living room rug from pacing back and forth. “We’re going to be late,” he says, glaring at her.

“Since when do you care?” She stalks past him, grabbing her keys off the counter on her way out the door.

He follows her outside, waiting impatiently while she locks her apartment. “Felicity’s meeting us at the restaurant, she’ll be sitting there by herself, waiting for us.”

“I think she’ll live,” Sara mutters as she trudges to Oliver’s car.

The drive to the restaurant passes in a stony silence that doesn’t bode well for the rest of the evening.

Oliver’s coworker Felicity actually seems nice enough, and Sara feels a little sorry for her when it becomes clear that she had no idea she was being set up on a date. Fucking Ollie tries to pretend like that’s not what this is, but seriously, what else could it be?

The girl looks kinda pissed, and Sara tries to make her feel better by telling her that Tommy’s got a crush on Laurel, because honestly she has a right to know she doesn’t stand a chance, and hey, maybe Ollie will finally catch a clue about what’s really going on between his best friend and his ex. But it just earns her a dirty look, so fine, she’ll sit here and drink her vodka martini and keep her fucking mouth shut.

She kind of tunes out of the conversation after that, letting Ollie do all the talking until Tommy finally shows up. He lays the charm on pretty thick for a guy with a serious secret girlfriend, but that’s Tommy for you. They end up talking about sports, because of course they do, so Sara orders another vodka martini and tunes out again.

It’s not until halfway through dinner that she starts to figure out that Felicity isn’t just someone Ollie works with. They go way back, apparently, to like college or something. Which, knowing Ollie, means they slept together. Sara doesn’t give a shit, but she feels like this is something she maybe should have been told before she got roped into this dinner.

“Wait, how did you guys meet again?” she says, interrupting their baseball talk.

“ _I told you,_ ” Oliver says irritably. “I met Felicity back in college when I was visiting Tommy in Boston.”

Did he? Sara kind of vaguely remembers him saying something about bumping into an old flame a while back. She’d sort of forgotten about it, but she guesses that must be who this is. But then why is Ollie trying to set her up with Tommy?

And then she makes the mistake of mentioning that Ollie was dating Laurel back then. She’s honestly just trying to lighten the mood by making a joke out of it, but as soon as the words are of out of her mouth she knows it was a mistake. Because Felicity obviously had no idea.

And fuck Ollie for that. Because seriously? What was he even thinking, dragging the poor girl out to this goddamn dinner without coming clean to her first.

So now Felicity’s pissed. And Ollie’s even _more_ pissed at Sara. Plus Tommy’s acting like a bitch now, because he gets super touchy whenever anyone brings up Ollie’s relationship with Laurel. Fucking great.

Sara’s beyond done with all of it, so she excuses herself to the restroom to let Ollie clean up the mess he made. She hides out in there for almost ten minutes playing Angry Birds. When she finally goes back to the table, Felicity and Tommy are both gone and Ollie’s brooding over a double scotch.

“Where’d everybody go?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know.

“They left,” Oliver says without looking up. “Thanks to you.”

“Don’t fucking put this on me,” Sara snaps. “What were you even thinking?”

He knocks back the rest of his drink and pushes himself wearily to his feet. “I don’t feel like fighting with you, Sara. Let’s just go.”

It’s the best idea Sara’s heard all night.


	3. Fight, fuck, detente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from Oliver's POV after chapter two of Find My Way Back To You. Requested by fanmommer (and a couple of other people).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether or not to tag this for Oliver/Sara, and in the end I decided not to, because their relationship isn't the endgame of the story. But this particular scene is fairly heavily Oliver/Sara, so consider this your warning and avert your eyes if you need to.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity says, backing away. “You’re not the kind of person I want to be friends with.”

The words cut to the quick, shocking him into silence, and Oliver can only watch numbly as she gets into her car and drives away from him.

He’s not proud of the man he used to be, but he’s worked hard to put that chapter of his life behind him. The knowledge that his father died believing he was a prodigal fuck-up was a harsh wake-up call. He’s tried to make up for it by finishing school, assuming the role meant for him at his family’s company, and settling down in stable relationship for once.

He’s tried to become the son his father wanted him to be, a man he could have been proud of.

But now it feels like it was all for nothing. Because as far as Felicity is concerned, he’s still that same asshole he used to be. And maybe she’s right. Maybe he is.

For all that he’s been telling himself his intentions toward her are innocent, deep down he knows that’s not the truth. He’s been holding on to this idea of her for years as the girl who got away, building her up into this fantasy in his mind. When she called him out of the blue he was so thrilled he didn’t even think about Sara before agreeing to meet. And he didn’t admit that he had a girlfriend until the end of their coffee date. Because they’d really seemed to click, even after all this time, and some part of him wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that there could be something there. That his fantasy could become a reality.

He’s been telling himself he was just trying to do Felicity a favor by introducing her to some of his friends, but really he was doing it for himself. Because now that she was back in his life, he didn’t want to lose her again. He wanted her to stay in his life.

Maybe he hasn’t technically been unfaithful to Sara, but he hasn’t exactly been faithful, either. He’s been slipping back into old habits. Sliding back into the worst version of himself.

One of the valets approaches to ask for his ticket, snapping Oliver out of his reverie. He waves the guy off and goes back inside the restaurant.

Sara’s still in the bathroom apparently, and Tommy’s sitting at the table alone. “Well, this was fun,” he says wryly, downing the last of his drink and standing up. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”

Oliver just lets him go with a nod, because he doesn’t have the energy to pick a fight with him right now. He doesn’t know what crawled up Tommy’s ass tonight and at this point he doesn’t care.

It’s another five minutes before Sara finally decides to come back from the bathroom, and by then Oliver has worked himself into a first-class sulk. She’s clearly still pissed off, and even though he knows he kind of deserves it, he can’t help lashing out at her. Which is just further proof that Felicity was right: he is an asshole.

They end up sniping at each other all the way back to Sara’s place, and even though he doesn’t particularly want to fight he can’t seem to let it go, because they’re at that point where it feels like the fight is having them instead of the other way around. He follows her inside and they shout at each for another half hour, until the tension between them is so charged that they end up fucking on her kitchen counter.

It’s not the first time they’ve ended a night like this. In fact, it’s become something of a pattern for them: fight, fuck, detente. Lather, rinse, repeat. There’s something almost comforting in it at this point.

Sara trembles against him when she comes (he can always make her come; he knows exactly what she likes, knows how to play her body like an instrument) and Oliver follows her over the edge a moment later, burying his face in her neck. (They’ve always been great at this part; if only everything between them could be as easy as sex.)

After, when they’re lying in her bed, Oliver holds her close and promises himself he’s going to make this work. Whatever’s been going wrong between them lately, he’ll find a way to fix it.

He loves her, and he’s going to prove it to her.

He’s going to be the man that she deserves.


	4. Parking Garage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet of Oliver's POV from chapter four of "Find My Way Back To You."

Oliver’s surprised to see Felicity’s red MINI in the garage. He’s never known her to work this late. Not that he’s trying to pay attention to her work schedule or anything, it’s just that it’s easier to avoid her when they’re not walking out to their cars at the same time. It took him a bit of trial and error to figure out that as long as he leaves before 4:45 or after 6:00 there’s almost no chance of running into her.

But it’s almost 9:30 now and the garage is mostly emptied out except for that bright red MINI Cooper, the one that’s always so hard to miss. The sight of it makes him uneasy. It’s always possible Felicity’s just working late tonight, even if he hasn’t heard about any big IT projects going on. Oliver tries to tell himself it’s nothing, and to just walk on by to his own car, but instead he ends up walking toward the MINI.

He stops short when he catches a glimpse of blond hair inside and realizes that Felicity is actually sitting in the driver's seat. His first instinct is flee. But his second, and the one that wins out in the end, is to make sure she’s all right. Because a woman sitting alone in her car this time of night in a mostly empty parking garage? Doesn’t feel right.

Oliver edges closer—close enough to look through the window. Felicity’s arms are propped on the steering wheel and her head is cradled in her arms and her shoulders are kind of shaking. She’s crying, he realizes, his gut twisting.

She hasn’t seen him yet, she doesn’t even know he’s there. If he wanted to walk away he could, and she’d never be the wiser.

He taps on the passenger-side window.

Felicity starts and looks over him, her face red and tear-streaked.

“Are you okay?” he shouts through the glass.


	5. It's Not Just a River in Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's POV from [chapter eight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4166268/chapters/10153895) of "Find My Way Back To You."

Oliver will never admit this to anyone, but his periodic visits to the IT department have become the best part of his workweek.

Most of his time at the office is spent feeling like an imposter, like at any moment he could say or do the wrong thing and be exposed as a failure. It’s exhausting, perpetually navigating the minefields of corporate politics, afraid to show any signs of weakness or uncertainty.

The only time he enjoys himself at work is when he’s with Felicity. He doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but he feels like can relax around her, laugh with her, open up to her. She always listens to him without judgment and always seems to know exactly what to say—exactly what he needs to hear.

He’s afraid of wearing out his welcome so he tries not to drop by her office too often. He saves his visits for days when he’s feeling especially at sea, or as a reward for successfully getting through an unpleasant or demanding task. Or when he just can’t help himself and he needs to see her smile.

In a landscape of industrial gray and corporate beige, Felicity is a burst of vivid colors and warm golden light. Just being in the same room with her makes the world feel a little brighter. Makes Oliver feel a little more alive.

Sometimes he’ll stand in the doorway of her office watching her for a few seconds before she notices him there. She has this adorable habit of chewing on pens, and when she’s concentrating she gets this little crease between her brows. He adores that little crease so fucking much.

She always startles when he finally makes his presence known, and then she looks up at him and her whole face kind of lights up in this amazing smile. It’s so much better than any of the drugs he experimented with back in his wilder days. He wishes he could take a picture of it and carry it around with him all day long.

He’s accepted that he can’t have her. She’s Sara’s friend now and putting the moves your ex’s friends is exactly the kind of asshole behavior Oliver’s been trying to put behind him. He’s almost positive Felicity’s not interested in him, anyway. There’s too much awkward history between them at this point and too many mistakes.

Sometimes the cards are just stacked against you. Sometimes you don’t get the girl of your dreams.

He’s made his peace with that and learned to be satisfied with what he has: her friendship. It’s more than he thought he’d ever get, and more than he deserves, probably. Things between them are good now and that’s enough for him.

That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Today, Felicity’s on the phone when he ducks his head in. He tries to retreat as soon as he realizes it, but she spots him and waves him in anyway.

She’s talking to her mom and he can see the tension knotting in her shoulders and tugging the corners of her mouth down, so when she gets off the phone he proposes a walk to the coffee shop around the corner. If there’s one thing Oliver understands it’s family drama, and he listens with a sympathetic ear when she opens up about her mom’s impending visit, and the constant pressure to be in a relationship.

“I could pretend to be your boyfriend if you wanted,” he says before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible, dangerous idea and he regrets it as soon as the words spill out of his mouth.

Felicity laughs at the suggestion, which hurts a little, he’s not going to lie. But he’s still willing to go through with it if it makes her life easier. There’s not a lot he wouldn’t be willing to do for her.

She doesn’t take him up on his offer, and he honestly can’t decide whether he’s more relieved or disappointed.

* * *

A week later, Felicity’s name lights up his phone while he’s at home watching the Rockets on TV.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks him. “Please say nothing.”

He’s supposed to take Thea to a movie tomorrow night. She’s been hounding him about it for a week and she’ll make his life miserable if he cancels on her.

“Nothing that can’t be changed,” he tells Felicity.

“Will you come to dinner with me and my mother?”

“As your friend or as your pretend boyfriend?” Not that it matters, really. He’ll do it either way.

“The second one.”

“Sure,” he manages around the lump in his throat. “I’ll make reservations. Seven o’clock?”

“Okay.” She exhales a long breath. “Thank you.” She sounds anxious and he wishes he could do more, that he could take all her cares away and make everything better.

“Felicity?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.” He’ll make sure of it. He’s going to make Felicity’s mother fall in love with him or die trying.

He’s going to be the best damn boyfriend Felicity’s ever had.

* * *

The evening’s going well, as far as Oliver can tell. There was almost a bad moment back at Felicity’s apartment when he kissed her on the lips—strictly for her mother’s benefit, of course—and he felt her go momentarily rigid. But then she smiled at him and seemed to relax, so he guesses maybe it was okay.

He’s been laying on the charm, pulling out all the old tricks in his playbook, and Felicity’s mother has been eating it up. He always was good with mothers—other than his own, of course. It was the girlfriends he could never seem to please.

Felicity has her mother’s smile and her diminutive stature, but Donna Smoak is sharp and brassy where Felicity is soft and polished. Oliver sees the way she seems to shrink into herself around her mother and dedicates himself to smoothing the waters between them. He works tirelessly over dinner to keep the conversation light and pleasant, interjecting humor whenever he can and steering them away from topics that seem to touch on old wounds.

By the time he picks up the check, politely waving off Donna’s halfhearted protests, Felicity actually seems to have relaxed a little. But then in the car he senses her tensing up again when her mother launches into yet another embarrassing childhood story. Oliver reaches for Felicity’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. She looks over at him and smiles, and the sight of that one smile makes the whole evening worth it.

She lets him hold her hand the rest of the drive home, and he tries not to think too hard about how nice it feels. How natural.

He figures he’s going to have to kiss her again. Strictly for her mother’s benefit, of course. He’s been girding himself for it all night, but when the moment finally comes he’s not as ready as thought he was.

Donna’s watching through the window so he’s got to make it look good. That’s his excuse, anyway, for the way he caresses Felicity’s cheek, tilting her face up to his. For winding his arm around her waist and tugging her closer. For letting his lips speak for his heart.

He feels her hesitate for just a second, and then she sinks into his arms, her mouth opening to his. Some distant part of his brain is yelling at him that he should stop this before it’s too late but he doesn’t care about what he should be doing right now because he’s _kissing Felicity._

He’s dreamed about doing this for so long and now it’s actually happening, even if it’s not real. It feels so good, so familiar, so _right._ He wants to spend the rest of his life kissing her just like this.

But then he feels her breath catch and he finally drags his mouth away from hers. Her eyes are wide and shocked and he realizes what a terrible mistake he’s made. Because she knows. He can see it in her face, in the puzzled, searching look she’s giving him. 

His cover’s blown.

She says his name and he lets go of her so abruptly that she kind of wobbles a little. He reaches out instinctively to steady her but her skin feels like it’s charged with static electricity and he lets go again immediately once he’s sure she’s got her balance back.

Oh god, he’s so screwed. So completely fucking screwed.

It hurts to be standing this close to her, hurts to even look at her. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. 

So he does the only thing he can do: he runs.

He doesn’t even remember what he said to her. Some variation of goodnight, presumably.

What he definitely _didn’t_ say is the truth that he’s too afraid to admit: that he meant every bit of that kiss—that he still means it even now, even though he regrets it.

That that kiss was the truest thing he’s ever done where she’s concerned.


	6. The Wedding Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fanmommer requested: Oliver POV of the end of the penultimate chapter and beginning of the last chapter? Basically Oliver POV on Felicity running off and then revealing her feelings?

“I like you,” he says experimentally, rolling the words around on his tongue, getting used to the feel of them in his mouth. “I more than like you, Felicity—I love you. I’ve loved you since—I don’t even know, it feels like part of me has loved you ever since we first met three years ago.”

Oliver stops and frowns at his reflection in the full-length mirror. Is that too much? Maybe he shouldn’t tell her that he loves her yet. He doesn’t want to scare her off.

“I like you, Felicity,” he tries again. “I really, really like you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

Yeah, no. Now he sounds like an eighth grader.

 _Fuck._ How is this so hard? He used to be good at this. He _remembers_ being good at this.

“Ollie!” Thea shouts, pounding on his bedroom door with her typical delicacy. “Come on, best man, it’s time. And Walter says to tell you not to forget the ring.”

“Be right there!” Oliver shouts back, reaching for his jacket and checking to make sure he can still feel the bulge of the ring box in his pocket.

On his way out of the bedroom he jerks open the drawer of his nightstand, grabs a couple of condoms, and tucks them into the recesses of his wallet.

Just in case.

* * *

“You look beautiful,” he says when Felicity opens the door. She always looks beautiful, but tonight she’s wearing a dress that hugs her curves and her hair is long and loose, curled into perfect golden ringlets. It’s all Oliver can do not to kiss her right then and there, on the doorstep of her apartment.

She flashes a tense smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

It’s the first sign that things aren’t quite right, but he writes it off to nerves. She’s probably just anxious about spending a whole evening around his mother. He can’t say he blames her.

He reaches for her hand and leans in to brush a kiss against her cheek. “Thank you again for doing this.”

Felicity pulls out of his grasp and turns her back on him to lock her front door. “You’ve already thanked me a hundred times. Let’s just get this over with.”

He doesn’t try to hold her hand on the walk to the car.

* * *

This is _not_ how Oliver envisioned things going tonight.

Felicity’s been acting cold and distant all night. And she keeps disappearing on him. First she wandered off to talk to fucking Laurel for a half hour, and now the dancing has started and he can’t find her anywhere.

It’s not until he remembers her interest in his father’s art collection that he thinks to look for her in the east wing. He finally finds her standing outside the library, staring at an Edward Bannister landscape.

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Maybe it’s just his imagination, but when she turns around, for a second she looks almost—disappointed? Like she wishes he hadn’t found her.

“Sorry,” she says, offering him another one of those smiles that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I just wanted a break from the crowd for a minute.”

“You okay?” he asks, frowning.

She nods, and her smile grows a little more convincing. “Fine.”

He knows there’s something wrong, but he’s afraid to push. Whatever it is, it’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Dance with me?” he says, remembering Tommy’s engagement party, and how happy she looked on the dance floor. If he can just recapture that moment, maybe he can turn this night around. Maybe she’ll look at him the way she looked at him before, and he’ll muster the courage to tell her how he feels.

He’s relieved when she lets him hold her hand and lead her back to the party. So relieved that instead of holding her properly, at a distance, he slips his arms around her waist and pulls her close. He feels her hesitate for a second, but then her arms wind around his neck and she sinks into his chest, her body warm where it’s pressed against his.

The scent of her perfume fills up his senses, and he holds her tight, feeling lightheaded and happy—so happy. It’s like everything’s right with the world again.

It’s perfect.

But the second the song ends she’s twisting out of his arms.

“Where are you going?” he asks, confused.

“I just need some air,” she says without looking back.

Oliver stands alone on the dance floor, watching Felicity walk away from him. Bereft.

And then he pulls himself together and goes after her. He catches up to her at the edge of the lawn, by the wishing fountain.

“Hey! Felicity.” She doesn’t turn around so he reaches out and gently tugs on her arm her until she’s facing him. “What’s going on with you?”

She looks up at him—looks him straight in the eye—and lies: “Nothing.”

She’s been telling him the same lie all night and he’s sick of it. He deserves to know what’s going on. He deserves to know what he’s done to make her treat him this way.

“Really?” he snaps. “Because you’ve been acting irritated with me all night. Did I do something to piss you off?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what? Because you’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want to be here.”

“I’m just tired of pretending,” she admits finally.

Oliver’s heart sinks like a stone.

He’s been such a fool. He allowed himself to hope that maybe, finally—but no. Clearly, he was wrong. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t want to be with him.

He sucks in an unsteady breath. “Jesus, I’m really sorry, Felicity. I swear, I will never again ask you to pretend you have feelings for me. I had no idea how hard it was for you.”

The words come out harsher than he means them to, but he’s hurt, and he can’t help lashing out a little. There’s a part of him he’s not proud of that takes some satisfaction in the way she blanches.

“That’s not it,” she says, reaching for him. “You don’t understand at all.”

This time he’s the one to shrug out of her grasp. “Then explain it to me. Please.”

“Oliver, I … ” She trails off helplessly.

“Well?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them again and says in a shaky voice: “I’m not tired of pretending I have feelings for you, I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The world lurches and spins around him. Oliver’s mouth falls open but no sound comes out. “What?” he manages finally. Because he needs to hear her say it again before he can let himself believe it’s real.

Felicity bites her lip and looks down at her feet, like she’s afraid to meet his eye. “I don’t want to be on a fake date with you, Oliver, because I want to be on a real date with you.”

His heart feels like it’s about to burst, but—oh god, she looks like she’s about to cry, and he can’t let that happen. Because he loves her and she—she apparently doesn’t hate him after all? She even maybe likes him? Enough to want to date him!

“Felicity,” he says urgently, unable to hold back a smile. “Why do you think I offered to be your pretend boyfriend in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, looking everywhere but at him. “Because you felt sorry for me?”

He wants to laugh, it’s so ridiculous, but he swallows down the urge. “I didn’t feel sorry for you, Felicity. I wanted to be close to you.”

She blinks up at him. “You wanted to be close to me?” she repeats slowly.

He does laugh then, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. “Yes!”

“ _Then why didn’t you ask me on an actual date?_ ” she shouts at him.

He hangs his head sheepishly. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“You’re Oliver Queen! Starling City’s third most eligible bachelor! And you were afraid to ask me out?” Her face is flushed and her eyes are shining and _fuck_ he just loves her so much.

“None of the things that impress other women ever work on you. You always see right through me.”

“Well, that’s true,” she agrees with a tilt of her head.

He shuffles closer. “I honestly didn’t think you liked me like that.”

“I didn’t,” she says, pink lips curving. “Until suddenly I did.”

He takes another step, and rests his trembling hands on her shoulders. Her skin is soft as silk, her eyes wide and hopeful as she gazes up at him. She’s so unbearably lovely it makes his chest constrict.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Oliver says, quiet and very, very serious.

And then he does.

And it’s everything.


End file.
